Children of Time, Ep 6: Child of Time
by Wholmes Productions
Summary: Just an average late-21st century high school in small-town America... where body-snatching aliens stalk the corridors... and three new teachers from the UK are far more than they appear. For one extraordinary teenager, it will be a life-changing encounter. Standalone / sequel to 'The Icarus Experiment'.
1. A Force of Nature

**==Chapter One: A Force of Nature==**

_My darling one, you are young and lovely,  
But inexperienced, and though you think  
The world is at your feet,  
It can rise up and tread on you._

— Ian McEwan, Atonement

_All right, so. My name is Beth Lestrade, and I'm fifteen years old. I'm also doing my junior year in high school—that's where the trouble started. If you want to know how I met the Doctor, you have to know what happened before that._

_I'm smart, and I'm stubborn. That's why I'll graduate a year ahead of everybody else my age, and that's one of the reasons why the other teens don't like me. Plus, I fight the bullies around here. That's how my story begins—first day of school, out on the grounds._

* * *

The crowd's chant was deafening as two of Milton High School's newest teachers shouldered their way through the crush of students. The taller of the pair, following close behind his more powerfully built colleague, was intrigued to note that the brunette coming to grips with the gang's ringleader was giving as good as she received.

Despite his indignation at her opponent's conduct, Holmes couldn't help feeling a faint twinge of disappointment when Watson reached the centre of the ring, just in time to catch the bully's wrist as the young man drew back to throw another punch. Now they'd never know if she would have won...

"Enough." Watson's hard, quiet voice clearly conveyed his own anger, held in check only for the time being.

"She jumped me!" Why the young man thought _that_ was going to garner him any sympathy...

The girl's blue eyes blazed as she hissed, "You and your pals jumped _him!_" She jabbed a finger towards a battered younger boy at the edge of the crowd, who looked as if he was hoping the earth would swallow him up, poor lad. "He's an asthmatic – you could have put him in the hospital, _you moron!_"

Holmes silently willed Watson to take care, as the young man spat another profanity at the girl. As much as either of them might want to administer a sound thrashing to the bully, such punishments were no longer in practise here – it was vital that they maintain as low a profile as possible, although they hadn't exactly gotten off to a promising start. Thankfully, their... other colleague was nowhere in sight, most likely still looking for a space to park the hovercar.

His friend's eyes were also smouldering with anger, although he still kept his composure, tone even but severely stern. "Young man, you will accompany me to the principal's office immediately."

The bully lapsed into a dour silence, the unease in his expression growing as his temper cooled.

Watson then turned to the girl and the asthmatic boy she'd so valiantly defended, voice softening. "Come along, you two."

The boy flushed, still trembling slightly, while the young lady took a calming breath, nodding. "Yes, sir."

Holmes stepped into the circle himself as Watson began escorting the three in the direction of the school office, addressing the crowd: "The rest of you can disperse – you have classes to attend."

To the detective's great relief, the surrounding students began to break up and drift away, groaning and muttering. His normal casework rarely included crowd control, and these adolescents were a far different breed from any of the elder Irregulars. His lips twitched in wry amusement – for one brief moment, he'd actually found himself wishing for the commanding bellow of Inspector Lestrade...

* * *

The principal did _not_ look happy at having to deal with a fight on the first day. Well, _Beth_ wasn't happy to have to be _in_ a fight on the first day, and she was definitely not happy that Mr. Simpson was glaring at her and Rob. It was not. Her. Fault.

"Do I even want to know what the fight was about _this_ time?"

Rob was staring sullenly at the desk. Baby. "She jumped me," he said in an equally sullen tone.

Beth was at least making an effort to stay calm. "He and his friends were shoving around an asthmatic freshman, sir," she said tightly—"and then one of them hit him."

Mr. Simpson glanced at his display screen, then at the freshman in question. "Is that true, Kevin?"

Kevin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, poor kid. "Yes, sir," he said quietly, nervously.

"Liar," Rob muttered.

"Oh, shut _up!_" Beth snapped. Honestly!

The principal glared at them icily, and she couldn't help shrinking back in her seat. "That's enough, _both_ of you! Mr. Vernet, please go with Kevin to Sickbay, tell Nurse Redfern what happened." He returned his attention to Kevin. "We'll talk again later, son."

"Yes, sir," Kevin repeated, his voice small.

The tall, dark-haired teacher escorted him out, and Mr. Simpson turned to Rob. "Robert, you and your thugs have been warned before about using the other students as punching bags! I don't care if your father is on the Board of Directors—if this _ever_ happens again, you will be expelled! You can wait in reception while I call your parents."

Rob muttered something that _might_ have been "Yes, sir" and slunk out of the office.

Mr. Simpson waited until Rob left, then turned to Beth, expression grave as he sighed. "Elizabeth..."

No. Not that tone—she hated that disappointed tone. She couldn't handle that disappointment—especially when she wasn't actually doing anything _wrong_...

"Sir, they could have put Kevin in the hospital—they probably would have!"

"And you could just as easily have joined him!" Mr. Simpson said sternly. (No, she wouldn't've—Kevin had had no idea of how to defend himself, and _she_ did. She'd been in school fights since the sixth grade. She knew.) "I've told you before: the last thing we need here is a vigilante who, like those bullies, thinks she can solve every problem with her fists! If you need to stop a fight, find a teacher!" (She'd gone that route before; it almost never worked.)

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth... at the very least, I have to put you on probation, too. Anything else depends on just how much blood Director Greene comes howling after."

She bit back hot tears and just barely nodded. It wasn't fair. She didn't enjoy fighting—she had only been trying to protect a kid who might have been seriously injured by the time she could have gotten an adult.

Mr. Simpson's expression and voice softened a bit. "Believe me, I wish I could just let you walk out of here with a slap on the wrist! But rules are rules, and every student here knows that brawling on school grounds won't be tolerated." (Had there been a slight emphasis on the words "on school grounds"? She thought there might have been...) "Are we clear?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, brow furrowing. "Yes, sir."

"How long will probation last?" said the teacher still standing behind her, the one who'd grabbed Rob. Her new English teacher, actually—Mr. Walker.

"Assuming there are no more incidents," said Mr. Simpson, a little wearily, "'til the end of the semester." He glanced at the clock and then at Beth. "And you'd better get to class—the bell's about to ring."

"Yes, sir," Beth murmured. She stood stiffly, turned, and walked out.

She _did_ get it, which was why she hadn't bothered trying to justify her actions. But she also couldn't... she couldn't just let things go. She didn't have it in her. She was a detective's daughter. She was the descendant of a detective who had allowed an amateur colleague to walk all over him, more or less, to accomplish justice.

So she really hoped that Rob would give it up for the semester, because, otherwise, she honestly couldn't see a way in which this situation would end well.

* * *

Watson sighed as Elizabeth walked out of the room. "She's a good kid..." To put it mildly – the girl had comported herself with impressive dignity under greatly trying circumstances. "Which is more than I can say for Robert, director's son or not."

Mr. Simpson mirrored Watson's frown, massaging his forehead. "No arguments here..." The principal slumped back in his chair with a groan. "What I wouldn't give just to let them fight it out! That arrogant little tick's been begging to get his hide handed to him from Day One..." grinning wryly, "and you didn't hear that from me!"

Watson raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. "Didn't hear what, sir?" He glanced at his new digital watch – having a timepiece attached to his wrist still felt odd. "Well, I'd better get off to my classroom. I'll see you later, Mr. Simpson."

Simpson nodded at Watson, smiling. "Oh, and thanks for stepping in back there, James, you and Mr. Vernet. Settling in all right?"

Watson nodded, amused to note that, even with an assumed name, Holmes' demeanour still discouraged people from addressing him informally. "I think so, yes. Bit different here in the States, but that's what we were looking for."

"Glad to hear it." Simpson sighed, sitting forward again and reaching for the desk pad. "Time to stir the hornets' nest..."

"I wish you luck," Watson replied with feeling, and left.

* * *

**Author's note from Sky:** Oh gosh, I am _so_ excited about this episode! I've been excited forever about this episode! So... what in the world is going on? Well, lots of stuff! (To our Sherlockian-savvy readers... yes, Beth _is_ who you think she is.) Stay tuned!


	2. John Smith

**==Chapter Two: John Smith==**

_Lives are made of strings of moments, and every once in a while, one of those moments is pivotal and defining. It changes everything, alters you so completely that when you look back, there's a clear _before _and _after_._  
— Elizabeth Norris, Unraveling

"Good morning, everyone. Take your seats, please." Watson stood at the front of his first class of the morning, trying hard to at least appear relaxed. "I am Mr. Walker. No doubt you've noticed the accent by now – and yes, I'm sure it's very amusing to have an English English teacher. I should, however, point out that a teacher's sense of humour can often manifest itself in odd forms, such as book reports, pop quizzes, and even essays. Consider yourselves forewarned." He'd been up most of the previous night working on this first lesson, although he wasn't surprised that most of the freshmen seemed largely unimpressed.

Taking a deep breath, Watson turned to the display screen on the wall behind him, tapping a key on the desk's control panel to make an appropriate quotation appear, reading it aloud: "'_And these does she apply for warnings, and portents, And evils imminent._' Now, who can tell me who wrote that?" There was a deafening silence. "No one? All right, first person to guess right gets to leave five minutes early."

In the front row, a shorter girl with shoulder-length red hair tentatively raised a hand. "Shakespeare, wasn't it?"

Watson smiled and nodded, greatly relieved that someone was prepared to take an active part in proceedings. "Well done. William Shakespeare: world renowned playwright, poet, and wordsmith extraordinaire – and whom you've no doubt guessed will be our subject of study for the next fortnight." He ignored the chorus of groans and forged on. "That quote is from _Julius Caesar_, one of the Bard's most famous tragedies. So –" He stepped out from behind the desk and perched on the corner of it, nodding encouragingly, "what can you lot tell me about Shakespeare?"

"He's dead?" smirked a boy towards the back, raising a ripple of mirth from the other students.

Watson's lips twitched. "True – although I was hoping for a little more detail. Anyone know when he died? Or how?"

"Didn't he die of the Black Plague or something?"

"Not a bad guess – he certainly could have done, the bubonic plague swept through London several times during Shakespeare's lifetime. In actual fact, no one really knows just how Shakespeare died, although speculation does abound. The man passed away in 1616, at the age of 52, which was considered a ripe old age back in... who can tell me which era?"

"Elizabethan?"

"Correct: the reign of Queen Elizabeth the First – although she actually died 13 years before he did. A most remarkable woman for her time, although a little quick-tempered, perhaps..." Watson realised with a shock that he was starting to reminisce, and hastily switched tracks: "and William Shakespeare's chief patron. Now, just imagine for a moment that the President of the United States has not only invited you to the White House, but has asked you to write a movie script in his honour..." He fell silent as most of the class started to snicker. Good Lord, what had he said this time?

"_Her_ honour, sir!" the redhead giggled.

Watson grinned apologetically, inwardly kicking himself. "_Her_ honour, sorry! Well, there goes my invitation!" The laughter that followed was good-natured, not mocking, and Watson let himself relax again; perhaps English had been the right choice, after all. He wondered how the other two were getting on...

* * *

"So! History! History, history, history, hi-sto-reee."

The juniors looked about as impressed as the sophomores had been—which was not at all. John Smith didn't care, though, because he knew that, by the end of the class, they would be. He'd managed to charm his first class, and, by golly, he would do the same this time. This was his first teaching job, and he was just on _fire_.

"All right, so! Got a brand-new curriculum from the board, which—I will be honest with you—is complete rubbish. I wrote more comprehensive papers in the seventh grade." There were a few chuckles throughout the room, although most of the teens still looked unimpressed.

He stepped up onto his desk and clasped his hands—now he had the full attention of everyone in the room, and there were more than a few pairs of wide eyes. Frankly, he was just grateful that his desk was low enough and the ceiling high enough to allow him to do this. "The new curriculum would just have you absorbing and regurgitating dates and statistics, and that will do you no good. 'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it'—who said that? Yes?"

A brunette who had to be one or two years younger than the rest of her classmates had raised her hand. "George Santayana."

He clapped once. "Very good. History is important. History isn't just the story of where we come from—it's the story of where we're going. If you know the past, you know the future. And you can't learn about the past if you're learning facts and figures—it's lifeless that way. Dead. The past is alive. And I am here to make it come to life for you."

He turned, slipped down from the desk, and wrote _WHAT WE KNOW_ on the board. "So here's what we're going to do today and the rest of this week. I need to know what you know. We're going to do a week of totally boring, mind-numbing review, so that I can know—know _intimately—_what I need to teach you. 'Cos the _last_ thing I want to do is go over stuff you already know—that won't do you any bit of good. So! Let's get started."

* * *

Holmes made his way to the staff room at recess, and found his Companions already there, taking their ease along with the other faculty members.

"Ohhh, this hits the spot." John Smith sipped his iced tea gratefully. "Bit hot in my room. So, how's it going for you fellas?"

Watson strolled over from the kitchenette, where he and the Domestic Science teacher had been negotiating with the coffee machine. "Mm, not bad –" then grinned as he sat down beside John. "I'm threatening my lot with Shakespeare essays if they don't pay attention." To Holmes, "How's your morning been, Edward?"

The detective groaned, dropping into the seat on John's other side. "Don't ask! Truthfully, I wouldn't trust some of these adolescents unsupervised with a paper knife! And I have the sophomores next, and of course, _they've_ all seen the new pirate movie..." Whatever had happened to quality cinema in the last century? Hollywood had a huge amount to answer for, in Holmes' opinion.

John snickered. "I wanna go see that one, actually." His brows drew together. "But, honestly, who _did_ they have teaching history before? I mean... everybody seems to think that the War of 1812 was a one-year war!"

Watson shook his head, smiling. "I'm guessing those would be the same geniuses who thought Queen Elizabeth's navy defeated the Spanish Armadillo."

His colleague groaned, giving a despairing laugh. "You just had to! Oh, well... at least they're pretty good, for the most part. Got a few kids that are absolute firecrackers, like this one girl who's half-English and really obsessed with history on the other side of the Pond."

"Oh, that's encouraging! Which era?"

John took another sip of his tea, completely missing the warning frown that Holmes shot at Watson behind his head. "Ah, Victorian. Knows a lot about Scotland Yard back then, especially – her family has a long history with it, and her father's actually a Detective Inspector."

Watson's sharp inhale caused him to choke on his mouthful of coffee, coughing madly. Taking advantage of the diversion, Holmes rose and moved across to his friend, patting him on the back until the worst spasms had subsided. "Careful, old chap! Let's get you some fresh air, shall we?"

Watson gave Holmes a chagrined nod, eyes watering, and allowed the detective to pull him to his feet, still trying to clear his throat. "We'll see you at lunch, John."

* * *

Beth was going back into the building from recess when she nearly tripped over her own shoelaces. Sighing, she lowered her backpack and tied her laces back up... Her ears caught a familiar voice from right around the corner, Mr. Walker's, and he seemed to be talking with another teacher. She didn't make a habit out of eavesdropping, but, oftentimes, the harder she tried to avoid it, the better she ended up hearing the conversation. She _should_ have simply moved on, she knew, but...

"Perhaps, my dear fellow—" that was the new fencing instructor, and, zed, his voice was deep, cultured, and terribly attractive—"you could bear in mind that the three of us are _meant_ to be keeping a low profile, and thus refrain from jogging the man's memory every other minute!"

"Well, is it my fault he's a history teacher now?" And that was Mr. Walker, a hint of indignation in his tone. What _were_ they arguing about? Whatever it was, it didn't sound like typical teacher talk... and she was a detective's daughter determined to be a detective. Her senses were on alert now. "What else am I going to talk to him about: what he did on his summer holidays?"

"I shudder to think... But really, Watson—" she frowned: it was _Walker_, not _Watson_—"you must take greater care! If he remembers too early..."

"I _know_, Holmes—" a chill slithered down her spine—"you needn't remind me!" Mr. Walker (Watson?) sighed. "I'm sorry, old boy, but all this waiting and watching is making me nervous—if only we knew what they looked like...!"

Uh-oh, Rob Greene at two o'clock... Beth finally moved on, dazed. The world around her suddenly felt unreal, as if she was experiencing someone else's life and not her own.

Watson... and Holmes...

Daddy's voice murmured comfortingly in her mind: _"All right, all right, break down to what you know."_

They were teachers. Brand-new teachers from England. James Walker and Edward Vernet. The other brand-new teacher was also from England: John Smith, her history teacher. The three of them obviously knew each other—possibly a trio of friends out for a new... Wait, no, that was theorizing without data. Ironically, that was a dry voice from a certain set of Victorian stories...

All right, and Misters Walker and Vernet were speaking as if they were undercover or something. "Low profile." Presumably, those weren't their real names. Presumably, _Watson _and_ Holmes_ were their real names. Okay, okay, back to fact: Mr. Smith... apparently wasn't who he thought he was. Amnesia, possibly? Theorizing without data, again, but... Wait, fact again: they were also hiding—hiding and not sure what they were hiding from...?

She was going to have to start note-taking. Fifteen, junior in high school, and she had her first mystery. And that was actually awesome.

* * *

Beth's first period in fencing was on Thursday that first week, and her excitement for the class conflicted with the knots in her stomach over taking her first class with one of her surveillance targets. Mr. Vernet (Holmes?) stood fully suited, foil in hand, before the bleachers, looking rather world-weary... Beth didn't quite notice that at first, however.

He was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen, actors included. Come to think of it, he looked rather a lot like a certain actor from the late 1900s she was particularly fond of...

It was rather distracting. He certainly had the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him, he was quite pale, and he had the largest, most beautiful grey eyes... _Wow, okay, slow down. You're not supposed to fall for teachers, remember? Especially not teachers you're shadowing_.

"Good morning, everyone," he said as the rest of the juniors filed into the gym. (The attractiveness of his voice hadn't lessened, either—she had a feeling this was going to be a rough year...) "Quiet, please, and line up along the wall. I am Mr. Vernet, your fencing instructor. Show of hands—how many of you have seen _Ocean of Blood_—" patently aristocratic expression of distaste, though slight—"over the summer?"

Most of the class raised their hands. She had a feeling she knew where this was going—this wasn't her first year taking fencing.

He smiled grimly. "Excellent—then you are already well informed on how to commit suicide." Yup, she'd called that one. "Something Hollywood does not teach impressionable young minds: the fine art of defence. This first lesson will be devoted to learning basic footwork and stance, and we will move on only when I am satisfied with the progress of each one of you. Those of you who feel yourselves more advanced, I would ask you to save any demonstrations until after this lesson has concluded."

She wondered if he'd worked professionally as a dancer—he moved with incredible fluidity as he demonstrated positions. After that, he worked with each student individually to see what they knew and correct their stances. When he reached her, she fervently hoped he would chalk up her shakiness to nerves and not... not realise that she was nervous because she kind of, sort of, liked him.

He didn't spend long with her, because she had already taken a year of fencing instruction. He corrected a couple of elements in her posture and stepped back with a look of satisfaction and an approving nod, then moved on. It took her several minutes to breathe steadily again.

At the end of the hour, he returned to the front of the class and assumed the air of a lecturer. (She winced—that would lose him points quickly with the other teens.) "Above all else, remember: your greatest enemy is never the person standing opposite—it is yourself. Carelessness and overconfidence are far more certain to be your downfall than the skill of your opponent."

The bell rang. "Good work, most of you," he continued over the noise of everyone packing up. "I expect you all to practice what you have learned before next lesson. Class dismissed."

Beth picked up her own backpack and slung it over her shoulder, lingering as the other juniors headed out. She knew that she should be going, but she also really wanted to say something to the new teacher... and she wasn't even certain what. She was in the habit of chatting with teachers before and after class, but she'd never done it before with one she was pretty sure by now she had a crush on.

He made her mind up for her, addressing her directly. "Elizabeth, is it not?"

She looked up—those big grey eyes were focused on her, and they started _doing_ things to her insides. "Just Beth." She managed a sheepish smile. "Hi."

He nodded amiably enough, gaze mildly curious, and began to remove his gear. "Is there some way I can assist you?"

_Awkward, awkward, awkward._.. "No... I, uh..." Zed, she was shy! She was never shy—it just didn't happen! "Actually, I was wondering where in England you're from. I have family over there. My dad works in New London, actually." She kicked herself mentally then—she might not be sticking her foot in her mouth but she was behaving just as badly... "Sorry. I didn't mean to ramble..." She looked away from his raised eyebrow and blushed.

"Warwickshire, originally. It has been—" she looked back in time to catch his lips twitching, as if at some joke she didn't know—"a great many years since I was last in England, however."

"Oh," she said in a small voice. _Just get out before you embarrass yourself further_. "Ah... I guess I'd better get going." _Retreat, retreat, retreat_... She raised her hand in a small wave. "Bye."

He nodded, clearly bemused, and she turned and walked away as quickly as she possibly could, cheeks flaming. She couldn't believe that she had been so stupid as to... stick around... and embarrass herself like that... and fall for a teacher in the first place. As if life wasn't complicated enough!

* * *

Holmes watched Elizabeth exit the gym, brow furrowed. He would swear he'd never seen the girl before, not even in town while they were settling in... and yet... something about her seemed oddly familiar...

A memory stirred faintly at the back of his mind... _a tall, willowy girl running through the forest, face hidden by her chestnut hair..._

He shook himself – now was hardly the time to become lost in thought. Watson and John would be awaiting him at the cafeteria, and for once, even he was famished. Teaching was a far more challenging job than he'd ever imagined, and he had to admit that Watson was right about one thing: this constant vigilance was equally taxing...

* * *

**Author's note from Ria: **

Poor Beth – of all the teachers to get a crush on, it had to be Sherlock Holmes, confirmed bachelor! Not that we can blame her, really; anyone who's seen Jeremy Brett in 'The Solitary Cyclist' will know that Holmes in action can be serious eye candy... Mrowr.

**Author's note from Sky:**

True facts! And seeing the boys in action, if only briefly, as teachers... squee, adorableness. Anyhoo... I know we've started out slow, but, trust me, stuff will happen soon enough and feels will hit hard and fast by the time the story's over. Stay tuned!


	3. A Life More Ordinary

**==Chapter Three: A Life More Ordinary==**

_His friends rely on him, and he relies on them—the simple balance on which so many lives are built._  
— David Levithan, Every Day

Holmes had known that, sooner or later, he and Robert Greene would come face to face, and laid his plans accordingly. The young man might or might not have the potential to become more than a mere thug, but in order to uncover it, certain measures would undoubtedly be required...

Walking up silently behind the bully during this senior group's first lesson, he could hear Robert scoff to the crony beside him, "I could do this stuff in my sleep."

The second boy echoed the snicker; then both jumped as Holmes said quietly, just behind Robert's ear, "An intriguing theory, Mr. Greene, but perhaps you might have the courtesy to remain awake long enough to learn something."

Robert gave Holmes a look of deep disdain. "I don't have to, man – I _know_ this stuff."

Holmes arched an eyebrow coolly, unimpressed by the bluster; judging from the little effort the boy had made thus far, that was most clearly _not_ the case. "Then I look forward to you demonstrating your superior skills after school – but for now, please continue with the drill."

Robert's bravado faded visibly at Holmes' tranquil expression. "Yes, sir."

Holmes turned away and moved on to the next pair of students, now wishing even more fervently that this was the last class of the day. Finally, some decent entertainment...

* * *

The word had spread like wildfire: _the new fencing teacher is going to teach Rob Greene a lesson_. Well, John and James could _hardly_ miss that. They arrived at the end of last period, right as Edward was wrapping up the lesson, and teens kept filing into the gym. _Nobody_ wanted to miss a showdown like this.

"Remember to practice what you have learned," Edward was saying; "those who do not will not progress to guard positions next lesson." The bell rang. "Class dismissed." He turned to Rob with a questioning look, giving the young idiot a chance to back out. (John didn't particularly care for Rob—the boy had absolutely no respect for the past and, in fact, had argued with him in class about how history had no relevance to the present whatsoever! Just thinking about it still got John steamed!)

The boy grinned cockily. "Want a performance, Mr. Vernet? Show the rest of the kids some _real_ stuff?"

Oh, dear heavens, the poor young fool had no idea what he was doing to himself. Edward was a brilliant swordsman.

The swordsman in question nodded calmly at a set of gear laid out on one of the lowest bleachers. "Certainly, Mr. Greene—when you are ready."

Rob nodded and suited up, then picked up the foil and twirled it around. Edward donned his mask, assumed a ready position, saluted with his foil, and waited.

The rest of the gym fell completely silent.

Rob opened with a lunge, which Edward parried easily. It took John only a minute to figure out Rob's style—he was fighting like he was Anakin Skywalker. But Anakin had the Force on his side and a blade of light in his hand... and Rob had gear and steel and very little common sense.

Edward, on the other hand, was the calm in the eye of the storm. While Rob was doing his level best just to score a hit, Edward barely moved from his position, parrying every thrust and cut with ease, and landing hits with surgical precision. From all appearances, the boy was quickly losing his temper, too—his moves were getting sloppy.

Something tugged at the back of John's mind, something on the verge of remembrance...

_Someone huge and snarling bearing down with a mighty blade on his smaller opponent..._

Edward lashed out like a serpent, knocked the foil out of Rob's hand, and caught it. John blinked at the abruptness of it, but he couldn't help grinning. "Well, bravo," he murmured.

"Enough," Edward said firmly. He removed his mask, tucked it under his sword arm, and extended his other hand. "A commendable effort, Mr. Greene—I should not be averse to crossing blades with you again, once you have attended a few more classes."

Rob's cheeks were flaming as he peeled off his mask and nodded sullenly, turning to put his gear away and not taking the offered hand. Edward simply removed his own gear and collected Rob's, checking it over before putting it away like the methodically precise person he was. To someone as slapdash in his methods as John was, his friend's precision was rather endearing.

He turned with James to the students, one of whom had been recording the duel on her phone. Well, _that_ was going to go viral pretty quickly. "I hope you've all learned a valuable lesson from this?" James said mock-sternly, eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, don't mess with Mr. Vernet," said one girl who was wide-eyed but grinning. A few quiet laughs rose from the teens around her.

James chuckled, rising to his feet. "Correct, well done! Off with you, now, and a safe journey home." They left the bleachers and approached Edward once Rob stalked out. "Nicely handled, old boy—I'm impressed."

Edward arched his trademark innocent eyebrow, the one that said that he was snickering inside. "Really, James, you have seen me with a blade before now."

James smirked. "I meant the way you deflated our young friend's ego. That's going to take him a while to live down."

John grinned. "It was brilliant. I loved it. And, with any luck, he's right."

Edward smiled blandly. "Dear me, how... convenient."

* * *

Beth slid wearily onto a bench in the cafeteria and set her tray down, sighing. "I hate Chemistry..." She wasn't bad at math, but higher math combined with higher science was just... rough. Why couldn't you take two years of high school biology in a row, she wanted to know?

Chloe slid in next to her. They were the same age, though in different grades thanks to Beth's obsessive academic perfectionism, and they'd been best friends since they were little. "You think _you've_ got it bad—I've got Mr. Ferguson for Geometry this year!"

Beth grimaced in sympathy: Mr. Ferguson was one of those teachers you just never wanted to be stuck with. "My poor baby. Why can't we have really good teachers like Mr. Walker in the classes we struggle with?"

Her friend's brown eyes lit up. "You've got him, too?"

Beth nodded happily. "Uh-huh! Isn't he great? I mean, he has got to be one of the nicest teachers I have ever had." He was just a genuinely sweet man...

Chloe hummed in agreement, the look in her eyes a million miles away. "And he's cuuute!"

Beth rolled her eyes for the sake of appearances (Chloe had known about her no-crushing-on-teachers policy for a long time) and grinned. "That, too. All of our new, one-hundred-percent British teachers are awfully good-looking, I have to admit."

Chloe nodded and sighed happily. "And I've got Mr. Smith for History!"

Beth nodded back. "Me, too. _And_ the new fencing instructor, who's pretty… um… pretty. Yup." (So much for that no crushing policy. Two years of high school standards... gone in the blink of a large grey eye...)

Chloe hummed noncommittally.

Then Beth caught sight of Mr. Vernet winding his way through the cafeteria with Mr. Walker. "Oh, look! There he is with Mr. Walker..." Or Watson? She really had no idea what to call the pair in her head... but seeing them _together_ like that...

"Yeah, I don't know," Chloe said slowly. "I kinda get the feeling he doesn't actually like kids all that much. I mean, have you ever seen him crack a smile?"

Beth tilted her head, fighting back the urge to defend Mr. Vernet. She didn't even know the man, for crying out loud... "Mm... sort of. It wasn't a big grin or anything..." She was still watching him, and something that Mr. Walker said seemed to make the instructor in question try and fail to hold back a smile. That smile completely transformed his face—he was radiant. And she was staring and she couldn't help herself.

Chloe waved a hand in front of her face, making her blink and shake herself, snapping around to face Chloe. "Hello? Earth to Beth?"

"Sorry, what?" Then Beth realised... Chloe was using _that_ tone, that amused tone, the one that never boded well for her...

And no more it did this time. Chloe gave a faint snicker. "Jaw off the floor, honey!"

Beth turned away with a groan. "Good grief..." Woe was her. It was bad enough that she had three mystery teachers, but she also had to be crushing one and enduring her best friend's teasing on top of it!

Chloe covered her mouth and began to giggle in earnest. "Dang, girl, you've got it bad!"

"I do not! He's cute, that's all!"

Chloe gave her a Look. "Mm-hmm."

Beth sighed. Against her better judgment, her gaze slid back to Mr. Vernet. She wasn't sure that thinking a teacher was zedding gorgeous was actually grounds for "having it bad," but... "I think he does like kids," she mused aloud after a few moments. "I think... he just doesn't have much patience, is all."

Chloe nodded. "Gotta wonder how long he'll last here."

"He'll make it." She couldn't help saying that with conviction—she just knew it. She just knew that her mystery teacher was not the kind to go down without a fight. "I overheard one of the seniors saying that he's the best fencing instructor the school has had in ages." He was certainly the best that Beth had ever had—you had to call the competence of a fencing instructor into question when you learned more from Star Wars documentaries than you did from said teacher.

Chloe gave a mild snort. "Has he met Rob yet?

Beth turned to her, eyes wide. "You mean you _haven't heard?!_"

* * *

As Watson predicted, every student at Milton High School had seen or heard about the one-sided fencing match within 48 hours, the cellphone video having 'gone viral', according to John – which, the doctor had to admit, was an extremely apt term. The remainder of the school week was mercifully uneventful, Robert and his entourage wisely keeping a low profile for the time being. Watson judged it would take the young idiot at least a week to try turning the incident to his advantage – most likely by claiming to be the only one brave enough to have taken on such a deadly opponent...

On Saturday, John insisted that they celebrate Holmes's 'victory' properly by going to see the now infamous pirate movie. Watson was agreeable, they were all in need of a night out; the two of them then swiftly overcame Holmes' reluctance, pointing out that he would have a much easier job teaching if he knew exactly which bad habits his students were having to unlearn in class.

John bounced on his heels in the popcorn line, grinning broadly. "I'm so excited! I haven't been to a pirate movie in _forever_!"

Watson couldn't help smiling himself, his friend's enthusiasm was infectious. "Well, if nothing else, it'll put an end to all the rave reviews and blow-by-blow accounts I've been getting. I'm seriously considering changing the next lesson module to _Treasure Island_ for all my classes – at least I know they'll read it!"

John snickered. "I should get my classes to read up on the real deal and _then_ see what they think about pirates. I do love me a good pirate film as much as the next person, but, _zed_, the real ones were just evil!" He shuddered, but brightened as he reached the head of the line, grabbing a handful of popcorn as soon as he'd paid and cramming it into his mouth.

Watson frowned as his speculation on how many pirates the Doctor had actually met on his travels was interrupted by the shocking display of table manners, exceeded solely by the youngest Irregulars. However, Holmes rejoined them from the ticket line just then, and he decided to let it go. "Right, shall we?"

John's eyes widened, quickly finishing his mouthful and thrusting the tub of popcorn at Watson. "Gotta get a Coke, you guys go on."

Holmes waited until John was out of earshot at the soda fountain before grumbling, "Where's a plasmavore when you need one?"

Watson gave him a Look. "Holmes, really —that's a little harsh."

The detective rolled his eyes. "_You_ haven't had to deal with amateur swashbucklers all week," arching a classic eyebrow, "and I'm certain I don't have to remind you of what happened the last time we visited the cinema..."

Watson shuddered at the memory – tracking a blood-sucking alien through the Paris catacombs had seemed almost a lark by comparison. "No, you don't, but still..." He watched John chatting in line with a vaguely familiar-looking teen, possibly one of his students. "He's almost like a child now—_is_ a child, really, compared to his Time Lord self..."

Holmes' nod was decidedly wistful, and Watson knew what his friend was thinking: neither of them had ever seen the Doctor so happy before, so lighthearted. With his mind shielded from all those centuries of regret, the Time Lord was absolutely thriving in his newfound humanity, to the point where both his friends were starting to wish that this masquerade didn't have to end at all, regardless of necessity.

"It's going to be hard, isn't it?" Watson said quietly.

"Yes, it is..." Holmes murmured back, sounding equally somber.

Watson could only nod mutely – there was a lump in his throat.

"Well, come on!" John came bounding back over to them, clutching a large soda cup. "We're going to miss the trailers!"

* * *

Monday morning, Watson and John were breakfasting in the kitchen of their shared flat. Watson couldn't help noticing that his colleague seemed oddly subdued – John would usually be humming with barely-contained energy of a morning, impatient to discover what the new day had in store. This morning, however, he'd barely said a word since emerging, staring down into his coffee cup with the same faraway expression as a clairvoyant with a crystal ball.

Eventually, John did look up, glancing thoughtfully over at Watson. "James... do you ever dream that you're a different person? Like, a wildly different person?"

Watson couldn't help tensing slightly, but concealed it by opening the nearest cupboard. "Mm, sometimes – doesn't everyone?"

"I suppose, but..." John frowned in bemusement, "it keeps happening. I keep dreaming I'm this man called 'the Doctor'... an alien." He grinned weakly. "Two hearts and time travel and everything."

Watson forced himself to return the grin. "Hmm, sounds like someone's been watching too many late-night movies!" He gazed at John in fond exasperation, shaking his head. "You're as human as the rest of us, John, and a teacher to boot – you need your sleep!"

"I've _been_ sleeping! And..." John set down his cup and picked a slim book up off the counter behind him. "D'you know, I've got a journal almost filled up with it all, pictures and everything? I swear I've never seen these things before in my life!"

Deeply apprehensive, Watson moved to John's side, trying to look as if he were merely curious.

John looked more than a little nervous himself, but opened the journal seemingly at random and handed it to Watson. "Look at this stuff."

The rough yet unmistakable drawing of a Dalek in the centre of the scrawl-filled page made Watson shiver involuntarily, the memories of that incident still regrettably fresh for him. On the opposite page, an elegant chain of concentric and interlinking circles stirred his thoughts anew – where had he seen this type of design before? He blinked; for a moment, it had looked like the image was trying to rearrange itself on the paper...

The anxiety in John's voice brought him back to the present: "Sometimes... sometimes, I think I'm going crazy or something."

Uncertain of exactly how to answer that, Watson settled for an impressed whistle. "My word... You've got quite a talent there, John – I wish I could draw like that!"

John smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've always been able to draw like that. At least, I... think I have..."

Watson glanced at his watch, eyes widening at the time, although grateful for the distraction. "Sorry, John, you'll have to show me the rest later." He passed the book back and called down the hallway, "Edward, are you _still_ in the bathroom?"

"Obviously..." came Holmes' voice from behind the closed door, sounding decidedly annoyed.

Watson sighed – the detective could spend hours before a mirror in any century, it seemed. "Fine, but if you're not ready in five minutes, we're leaving without you!"

* * *

Beth's weekend had been terrible. There hadn't been very much homework to do, but the mystery of who her English teachers actually were had been driving her crazy. Just her luck that, as she was coming in from the parking lot, she ended up walking a few yards behind said teachers.

Then she saw something drop out of Mr. Smith's coat pocket. "Hey," she called, but there was already so much din from the other students that he couldn't hear her. She reached the object and stared down at it—it was an honest-to-goodness _pocket watch_. She bent down and picked it up, studying it. Oh, it was beautiful. The casing looked like bronze or brass... and it had the oddest circular design on it...

She blinked. Something in her head was... twinging... she shivered at the sensation. Standing, she opened the watch...

"_Shh, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."_

She gasped, nearly dropping the watch. The voice... it was Mr. Smith's and it was coming from the watch (which was glowing golden now) and _it was in her head_.

"_I'm not going to hurt you, Beth, I promise, it's okay, you're okay, I just need a little help..."_

_Stop that! Get out of my head!_

"_Get to someplace private, and I'll show you who I am."_

_Get out of my head._

She felt something like a mental sigh, and then her mind's eye saw a perfect picture of her mystery teachers... Only Mr. Vernet and Mr. Walker were dressed significantly differently...

"_They're who you suspect they are, Beth. I travel with them, and they're brilliant."_

_That's not possible._

"_We travel in time. I'm a Time Lord. I'm the Doctor."_

_Stop, please._

"_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I need you."_

Then she saw so much. She saw a man who changed his face and faced down monsters and ran through time and space. She saw a girl who meant so much to him, a girl who was lost to him but who would never give up, a girl who created herself... She saw a Victorian detective and doctor deciding to join that man, saw them running together, best of friends and yet bearing bonds forged in terrible fires...

When at last she returned to herself, crying silently, she was twenty minutes late for English.

She didn't know how she was going to manage to get through any class just now, much less one with Dr. John H. Watson.

* * *

**Author's note from Ria: **

My favourite scene in the whole story – the duel, Holmes basically obtaining satisfaction from a bully on behalf of everyone he's ever picked on. Makes you wonder what his own school days were like...

I hate watching all the bullying in the original DW episodes, despite the realism for Edwardian times – especially since the human Doctor actually encourages it at one point! Honestly, I'm amazed Joan Redfern gave him the time of day after that...

**Author's note from Sky:**

Ditto that! I really love exploring human!Ten here—I basically approach the character as being all the Doctor's joy with none of his accompanying grief. "Human Nature" and "Family of Blood" are excellent episodes, but I think they totally sold John Smith short, as he was hardly sympathetic. Yes, the differences between him and the Doctor needed to be highlighted, and he _was_ a product of his time, but then... so are Holmes and Watson. The reason I cried over John Smith was because of his romance with Joan, not because I liked the character himself. *sigh* Anywho... stay tuned, 'cos _stuff_ is about to go down!

(And if we're really, _really_ good, we can get this thing wrapped up in time to post our 50th Anniversary special! ...we're probably _not_ that good, but keep your fingers crossed!)


	4. So Small A Thing

**==Chapter Four: So Small A Thing==**

_It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt for so small a thing._

— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

"Mr. Vernet?"

Holmes turned with Watson to see Elizabeth hesitantly approaching. "Could I talk with you in the gym? Right now? It's important."

The detective frowned, curiosity piqued. "I'll catch up with you later, James." John would be waiting for them at the cafeteria as usual, they couldn't both be late without arousing suspicion. "After you, my dear."

Elizabeth nodded, anxiety evident in her carriage and the set of her shoulders as she led the way to the gymnasium. Holmes followed her inside, leaving the door open for the sake of propriety, concerned to see the young lady slumping against the wall, breathing a sigh of relief. "Elizabeth, whatever is the matter?" His eyes narrowed at a sudden thought. "If Robert and his thugs have been troubling you again..."

She shook her head. "Sort of... It's difficult to explain..." Her voice softened as she looked up at him: "Mr. Holmes."

The detective stared, doing his best to look confused. "I beg your pardon?"

Elizabeth bit her lip. "My last name is Lestrade... a few things have been passed down in the family..." The girl held up her cell phone, the screen of which held an image of a black and white photograph.

Holmes peered closely at the image, both eyebrows raised as he recognised the photograph, taken only a few months before their departure in the TARDIS. "Well, well... I must agree with you, my dear, the resemblance is remarkable." His condescending smile concealed the fact that he was swearing fervently in the privacy of his own thoughts – _why_ hadn't he noticed the family resemblance long before now? "But I think you have been reading those old tales just a little too long. There must be quite a number of men out there in the world who share the same likeness to those two, whoever they are."

She stood up straighter, blue eyes narrowing – oh, that was a Lestrade expression, indeed, one which was all too familiar. "Oh, I really doubt that. That is _way_ too close a resemblance."

Holmes forced a light laugh. "A mere coincidence, my dear – nothing more. However, I am flattered that you would think I could in any way measure up to the Great Detective himself, fictional character or not."

Elizabeth groaned. "You don't even talk like you were born in this century! Nobody – absolutely _nobody_ – talks as formally as you do in everyday conversation."

Holmes smiled, trying not to clench his teeth. "What do you expect from an upper class English education, my dear? Cockney rhyming slang?"

The girl took another deep breath, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. "Okay then... you and Mr. Walker calling each other 'Holmes' and 'Watson' is just roleplaying?"

Holmes didn't bother trying to conceal the flash of anger that crossed his face – moral indignation could be an extremely effective tool. "Eavesdropping, Miss Lestrade, is a disgraceful habit. And as it happens, our calling each other 'Holmes' and 'Watson' is a joke from our college days – we were saddled with those sobriquets by our peers and they remained with us the entire time. Not that that is any business of yours."

Elizabeth wilted further. "That was an accident – I didn't _mean_ to overhear you." Her eyes searched his face, eyes pleading, her tone becoming urgent. "Look, Rob is... all of a sudden, he's acting... he keeps _looking_ at me like... like..." She shook her head helplessly. "Oh, I don't even know how to explain it!"

Holmes frowned slightly – the girl's personal problems were hardly his concern, but if it would serve to distract her... "Well, he is an adolescent like yourself, after all – are you certain he is not merely, er... sweet on you?" He waved a hand uncomfortably, sighing internally – this was _not_ how he had envisioned spending his lunch hour. "Whatever term is used by young people these days..."

The look she gave him clearly said: _Are you serious?_ "Right, yeah. A guy that I've been physically fighting since I started high school is going to suddenly turn around and crush on me – that just makes all the sense in the world!"

The detective's lips twitched. "Stranger things have happened." Who should know it better than him?

"Yeah... like, maybe, three British teachers turning out to be a Victorian detective and doctor and a Time Lord!" Elizabeth sighed as Holmes' eyes widened – how in the world...? "This is ridiculous. I'm scared." Which was plain to be seen – the girl was looking increasingly agitated, tugging nervously on her ponytail. "There is something wrong with Rob, and... you know what? Just... never mind..." She turned to leave, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

Holmes exhaled heavily through his nose, finally acknowledging to himself that the game was up – a foregone conclusion, he supposed, given the girl's lineage. "You and your ancestor would seem to have more in common than is immediately apparent. He, too, was as tenacious as a lobster, although not quite so well-endowed with perception."

A cautious hope glinted in Elizabeth's eyes as she turned back to face him. "I learned from the best."

Holmes' lips twitched. "Truly flattering, my dear. I shan't insult you by asking you not to reveal our identities – had you been prepared to expose the three of us, you would not have approached me in this fashion."

The girl nodded slowly, still looking apprehensive.

"One thing greatly puzzles me, however. I can understand, at least, how you were able to deduce who Watson and I were – but how did you know about the Doctor?"

Elizabeth took a step back. "I... It... it's kind of hard to explain..."

Holmes frowned at the growing fear in the girl's eyes. "Please do not be alarmed, my dear. You are in no danger from me or my colleagues, I assure you."

She nodded again, biting her lip. "I know. It's just that... I have this." Holmes' eyes widened as Elizabeth reached into her pocket and pulled out the Doctor's fob watch. "Under normal circumstances, I'd know what this is, but... I don't think normal ones... emit golden light. Or talk with you inside your head."

"You opened it?" Holmes could have kicked himself for not understanding before: Master Greene's unusual conduct had just taken on a whole new significance...

Elizabeth frowned at the sharp tone. "Hey, that was one of the scariest moments of my life, okay? Mr. Smith dropped it the other day and didn't notice, so I picked it up to give it back. And it was so beautiful... I opened it..." She laughed nervously. "And the Doctor scared the living daylights out of me."

Holmes nodded grimly – poor child, she was now as wholly entangled in this mess as the rest of them. "And I am afraid, Miss Lestrade, that the terror is only just beginning... We must find Watson and the Doctor, immediately!"

He was faintly amused by the girl's snapping to attention – the Inspector was likely turning in his grave. "Yes, sir!" She relaxed again for a moment, flashing a nervous grin. "Oh, and _please_ call me Beth."

Holmes gave her an odd look. "If you insist... Beth." Then, prompted by a sudden impulse, he extended a hand. "Sherlock Holmes, at your service."

Beth stared at him, a genuine smile creeping over her face, shaking hands firmly. "It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Holmes bowed slightly over the girl's hand before releasing it. "The honour is mine, my dear – now, let us be off! Time is of the essence."

"Right behind you."

* * *

Holmes' philosophy had always been 'Prepare for the worst'; paired with Watson's attitude of 'Hope for the best', theirs was a formidable partnership. Unfortunately in this case, he and Beth were having to rely far too heavily on the latter for his liking. The corridors that led to the cafeteria offered very little cover, although they mercifully hadn't encountered any other students en route.

The detective wondered for the hundredth time why the TARDIS had been so thoughtless in her choice of hiding place for the Doctor: a small town and a high school full of adolescents? Hardly the camouflage Holmes would have chosen, and now that they had been discovered, every one of those innocent civilians was also a potential hostage. He prayed it wouldn't come to that, prayed fervently every second...

Holmes tensed and drew up short as someone rounded a corner ahead of them, relaxing a trifle when he recognised the figure: Chloe Parker, Beth's sophomore friend – he'd often seen them together between classes. The girl would never be more than a passable fencer, but at least she wasn't one of the swashbucklers.

"Beth?"

Beth frowned as Chloe came towards them. "Chloe? What are you doing here? What's wrong?"

Chloe gave Beth a tight smile. "Oh, nothing – just looking for you. Where are you going?"

Beth was starting to look worried – what had she noticed that Holmes hadn't? "Just some stuff I need to do. Why? You're going to miss Sociology if you don't get over there soon."

"But can't I help you?" Chloe suddenly sniffed loudly as she drew nearer, and her smile widened. "I'm your friend, Beth; I want to help." Was Holmes being paranoid, or was the girl's smile just a little too fixed? It reminded him somewhat of the Doctor's manic grin, but not in a good way.

Beth stepped back, looking almost as scared as she'd been in the gymnasium. "Don't think so, Chlo. Not this time. Now please just... what is _wrong_ with you?!"

Holmes didn't blame his companion for her reaction. If he had to guess, he would say that Chloe's expression was a match for Robert Greene's: downright _hungry_. "Nothing, I'm fine." Another long sniff of the air. "You're hiding something – I can tell. What is it? Show me. Show me now."

The detective saw with alarm that Chloe's hand was moving steadily towards a bulge in her coat pocket: one that was shaped far too like a firearm for comfort.

Beth took another step back, shaking her head. "No." And as Beth moved backwards, Holmes snatched the backpack off her shoulder and threw it to Chloe, who automatically reached to catch it.

Taking immediate advantage of the girl's being caught off balance, Holmes grabbed Beth by the arm, dragging her back down the corridor and around the nearest corner. Had he been alone against 'Chloe', he might have attempted to wrest the weapon from her, but with Beth present, the risk was too great. He keyed the separating door closed behind them, braced himself and smashed the keypad controls with his elbow.

"What the zed...?!" Beth's stunned reaction was cut short by a flash of green light in the porthole of the door. 'Chloe' had plainly tried the door and was now attempting to shoot it open.

Holmes took Beth's hand firmly. "Run!" The pair sprinted down the hallway, still heading for the cafeteria, although they were now having to take the slightly longer route.

"What's happened to her?"

The detective looked back to see that Beth's eyes were brimming with tears, and hesitated a long moment. It would scarcely be helpful at this point to tell her that in all likelihood, her friend was beyond saving. He slowed to peer cautiously around the next corner, relieved to find the next hall deserted as well – no telling how many of the Family were now on campus – then nodded down at Beth's pocket. "How much has he told you of why we're here?"

Beth smiled bitterly as they hurried on. "'There are lots of things I don't tell people.' Sound familiar?" She sighed. "All he'll say is that you're all hiding, which I figured, and that it's not time yet for him to come back."

Holmes echoed the smile grimly. "Well, unfortunately, we no longer have a choice in the matter..." He realised next moment how reproachful that must sound to her, and glanced at her apologetically as he took a deep breath. "To cut a very long story short, my dear: a family of alien hunters is trying to achieve immortality by feeding on the Doctor. He turned himself human to confuse the scent and prevent them from tracking us, storing his... essence in that fob watch." The detective shook his head – what had been wrong with his idea of a safety deposit box? "Thank God you found it before they did, he'd never even have missed it."

Beth blinked. "Okay... wow. But what about..." The poor girl looked downright ill, her voice faint: "Chloe...?"

Holmes nodded gravely. "I am sorry, Beth..." His voice became firm, he couldn't have her losing heart now. "But right now,we must get the watch back to the Doctor. He'll do whatever can be done afterwards, I promise you."

She nodded back slowly, visibly pulling herself back together. "Okay. Okay."

* * *

Principal Simpson was going over his schedule for the week, when the very last family he wanted to deal with showed up unannounced in his office. His eyes widened slightly, wondering what the Greenes wanted _now_ and why his secretary had just allowed them in. "Good afternoon, Director, Mrs. Greene." He glanced back at his desk terminal—he'd just been over it and there'd been no sign of... "I'm sorry, I didn't realise we had a meeting today."

Director Greene's gaze was intense, unblinking, and surprisingly disturbing. The man was not known for making others comfortable, but this... "We didn't." He... sniffed?... at the air. "We're looking for a man, and we believe you know where he is."

Robert Greene smirked slightly, the look unusually psychotic, even for him. "I'm certain of it."

Simpson frowned—on principle, he didn't like their weird attitude, and their expressions were definitely making him uneasy. "I'm sorry—who did you say you were looking for?"

The other man studied him closely. "His name is the Doctor—" Simpson had it on the tip of his tongue to ask _Doctor who?_—"and he is not human."

Simpson barely suppressed a snort. "Let me get this straight, Director," he said slowly, trying hard to keep a straight face: "you and your family are looking for... an alien... here?!" He furrowed his brow in seeming concern but couldn't quite hold back his smile. Aliens existed, sure—everyone knew that—but very few even held any sort of contact with the UN, let alone mingled in small town high schools. "Forgive me for asking, sir, but this _is_ a high school—how are you going to know if you've found him?"

Mrs. Greene finally spoke up, smiling coldly. "Your pathetic mockery will not deter our hunt, Mr. Simpson. The Doctor _is_ here, and we will find him. If you will not assist us, then stand aside or die with the rest."

Simpson's eyes narrowed as he rose and leaned forward, voice tight with anger. "Mrs. Greene, I've no idea what the three of you are talking about, but _nobody_ threatens anybody else like that here. Now, get the hell off this campus before I call the police!"

Robert smirked crookedly... and Simpson finally felt a sense of a very real threat. "But how can you call them, sir, when you are dust?" Simpson could only watch helplessly as Robert drew a gun and aimed it at him.

A mere second later, dust was indeed all that was left of the principal of Milton High.

"Not to worry, Father-of-Mine, Mother-of-Mine," said the boy with Robert's body. "I am certain my sister will bring us news soon."

Almost on cue, a girl's voice sounded in their minds. "_Family of Mine, I've seen one of the Companions; and the girl, this body's friend, she's with him. The scent is strong on her—the Doctor must be near._"

"Where are you, Daughter-of-Mine?" said the Father. "Are you following the girl?"

In answer, she showed them what happened to her. "_They were going towards the cafeteria. They'll be watching for me now._"

"They'll try to get the Doctor out of the school," Father said, "and they may well succeed. Follow them if you can." He turned to his wife and son. "We need to... _decommission_ all vehicles so they can't get far."

Mother's eyes gleamed in anticipation. "And then the true hunt can begin."

* * *

Watson was greatly relieved to see Holmes and Beth making their way through the crowded cafeteria – where in the world had they been? Holmes headed off towards another teacher keeping order in the queue for food, while Beth made a beeline for the table where he and John were seated, face pale. "Dr. Watson. We've gotta go, now. The family you've been hiding from – they're here."

John frowned. "Hiding? Doctor... Watson? Beth, what on earth are you talking about?"

Watson's eyes had widened at Beth's use of his real name – he would dearly love to know how she'd become involved in this, although he could hazard a guess. "You've seen them?"

Beth's face twisted, paling further. "I... I think so..."

"What are you talking about?" John sounded understandably frustrated. "James?"

Watson shifted his concerned gaze from Beth. "Sorry, John, no time to explain. We need to get out of here – and this might sound crazy, but we're going to need your watch as well." He rose from his seat, turning back to Beth. "The Family, what do they look like?" Despite the danger, he couldn't help feeling vaguely thankful that this interminable waiting and watching was finally at an end.

"My _watch_?" John put his hand in his coat pocket and froze, looking horrified.

A tear slipped down Beth's cheek, her next words a pained whisper: "They're using human bodies..." She closed her eyes, swallowing hard, then put a hand in her own pocket. "I have the watch. I found it..." drawing it out just enough to let the two men see for themselves.

Watson sagged in relief, although his breath caught the next moment at the sound of the Doctor's voice whispering from the watch, audible despite the clamour of students around them: _Hurry...  
_

His human colleague gripped Beth's shoulder bracingly. "Well done, m'dear – now let's get moving! We'd best go out the back."

Beth nodded jerkily and let Watson steer her and John towards the kitchen, John looking ever more frustrated, but mercifully not putting up a fight.

* * *

Holmes swiftly approached the teacher on duty, his voice low. "Peter, call the police – we have an emergency."

Peter's eyes widened, Holmes's expression clearly banishing any doubts, and reached for his phone. "What kind of emergency?"

"The school is under attack – there at least two students out on the campus with blasters, probably more."

Peter paled but nodded firmly, dialing 911. "Got it." After a brief pause: "Hello, yes. I'm a teacher at Milton High and I'm reporting at least two students on campus with blasters. No, no casualties yet as far as we know. All right." He covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Holmes, "The police are on their way."

Holmes glanced in his companions' direction, noting their progress. "Peter, you and the other staff take charge here. Secure the doors, don't let anyone else in or out."

Peter nodded again, frowning. "Whatever you're doing, be careful."

* * *

John Smith's heart sank as Edward joined them in the kitchen, his expression grave. "Any sign of them?" James asked.

Edward motioned for them to keep walking. "The two we know of haven't caught up yet... Robert Greene..." Edward glanced regretfully at Beth. "...and Chloe Parker—but there could still be more."

Beth's eyes squeezed shut. John didn't know what the hell his friends were talking about, but the pain in the girl's face was all too real.

Edward turned fully to her, then. "Beth," he said gently, "we need your expertise: how do students get off campus without being caught?"

She opened her eyes and cleared her throat... but then none other than Chloe Parker stepped in front of the back door. With a large, ugly blaster in her hand. "That doesn't matter, Mr. Vernet; you're not going anywhere."

John stared at her—what had happened to the sweet kid he'd been teaching?

She glanced between James and John uncertainly, _sniffed_ the air, and zeroed in on Beth. John could only describe Chloe's resulting grin as downright _psychotic_. "Oh, very clever. Show and Tell time now, Beth! What _are_ you hiding?"

Beth's blue eyes burned, and John shuddered again—if looks could kill, Chloe would be ashes. "You murdered her," she said in a low tone. She took what looked like an unconscious step forward. "She was just a kid—she was my best friend—and _you murdered her_."

Edward grabbed her arm, holding her back. "No, Beth!"

Chloe—was she really Chloe?—laughed, her expression disturbingly hungry. "Yesss, I should have taken _your_ form! So much stronger, much more fun—but this one did scream so beautifully..."

John was no longer sure what to think. All he _could_ say for sure was that the girl before them was _not_ actually Chloe. Chloe was a clever, kind teenage girl, and this... _thing_... may have had her face, but it didn't have her heart.

He turned to Beth, who was staring at the psychotic girl and trembling in obvious fury and pain. She looked as though she might, at any moment, fly at the other girl and wrap her hands around 'Chloe's' throat—her fingers tightened around his watch. "You want to see what I'm hiding?" she said in a thick tone. "_Be my guest_." Her hand snapped up, flicking open the watch...

...and an actual stream of golden light shot out at 'Chloe,' who recoiled, eyes wide, crying out in shock.

Beth darted forward then, slipping through Edward's loose fingers, and snatched away the blaster. "Come on!"

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:**

I really do have to wonder what the TARDIS was thinking, even in the original episode. It was a bit unfair of Joan Redfern to blame the Doctor for all those deaths, since it was his ship who chose where and when to hide him! Of course, if they _hadn't_ landed in that particular time and place, things would turn out very differently for a certain OTP...

**Author's note from Sky:**

I have some thoughts, but I'll save them for later! It really excited me, though, to finally get to see Beth through Holmes's eyes, and I think Ria pulled it off beautifully! This is really one of my favorite episodes for Holmes, because he's just so warm and lovely and very much in the style of Christopher Plummer's portrayal in 'Murder by Decree'.

Regarding poor John, though… don't worry, things only go downhill from here!


	5. A Brave Girl

**==Chapter Five: A Brave Girl==**

_Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten._

— Neil Gaiman, Coraline

Beth burst through the back door. Edward and James followed and nearly had to drag John after them. The world had just been pulled out from under his feet and nothing made sense anymore.

"So, where to—the TARDIS?" said James.

Edward nodded. "We need time to bring the Doctor back; even if they track us down, they still won't be able to enter."

"Hold on, the Doctor?" John cried. His head was hurting... or was that his chest? No, wait, both were hurting. Lovely... "The TARDIS? Those are just... just dreams!" He knew his voice was rising in pitch, but he couldn't stop it. "What the _hell_ is going on?! And why does that... that _thing_—" he pointed at the blasted watch in Beth's hand—"have my voice?!"

Beth glanced at him, large blue eyes sorrowful.

James bit his lip. "I'm sorry, John," he said softly, "I know this all seems crazy." He took a deep breath. "Those dreams you keep having? They're not just dreams—they're memories... your memories."

"That's not possible!" John protested. "I'm human! I'm just a normal human being! I was born in Nottingham—I grew up there!"

"I'm sorry, sir," said Beth, "but I'd be willing to bet you can't even give me any natural memories of your childhood."

"Don't you start!" John snapped, well and truly upset by now. This was insane... this was a nightmare. That was it. This _was_ another of his insane dreams and any moment he'd wake up and have to get ready to go to the real school...

They reached a door with a card-access terminal. Beth gestured for one of the teachers to use his ID card, and James stepped up to do the deed, opening the door and peering through. She wordlessly offered him the blaster, and he took it with a flash of a tense smile.

"And what of us, John?" said Edward. "How did you and I first meet—do you remember? Because I have a strong feeling you've dreamt of that, too, even though you haven't written of it in your journal." His gaze was steady, as if willing John to remember. "November, 1893... a mountain village in Tibet..."

_A great white creature in the night, a severely injured man who turned out to be the Great Detective, a horde of shadows..._ "The yeti! He sent you fly—" John felt himself pale as his eyes widened; that had been cruel. "No! Edward, stop it! Stop... I don't... I don't want to be him. I don't... I'm not! I'm John Smith! I'm human, I have a normal human life, and that's all I want!"

"I know," Edward (Holmes?) said gravely. "Believe me, John, I do understand... but hiding isn't going to work any longer, now that the Family knows what to look for. They will never stop until they get what they want."

A ray of green light struck the wall beside the four of them. Beth screamed.

Rob Greene stepped forward from around the corner, wearing a crooked grin that John had to say was completely psychotic. The look kind of suited his nasty personality, really... But he was also carrying a blaster, one just like Not-Chloe's, and he had the same look in his eyes.

"How right you are, Mr. Vernet, if that's even your real name!" the boy crowed. "It isn't, is it? And Mr. John Smith turns out to be the Doctor. Super!" He turned to Beth, grin widening. "And Beth, dear, sweet, little Beth... I do believe you have something we want. Be a good girl and hand it over." He held out his free hand and gestured with his fingers.

James turned his own blaster on Rob. "I don't think so," he said coolly.

"Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Walker." Still grinning, Rob aimed directly at Edward. "I could still squeeze off a shot before yours would hit me."

Beth went white, and John felt himself following suit. He still didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was wasn't worth people's lives! "For heaven's sake, just do what he says!"

Rob laughed. "That's right: listen to your Doctor, Beth, there's a girl."

Beth looked pleadingly at Edward and James...

And the next moment, a sharp female voice rang out. "Freeze! Police!" Several armed cops appeared from different directions, aiming at the three teachers. "Hands in the air, you three!" the lead cop barked.

John frowned incredulously as he raised his hands. "_What?_" His friends looked at each other in confusion, both raising their hands slowly, James still holding the blaster but pointing it upwards.

One of the male cops turned to Rob and held out his hand for the blaster. "Good work, son, we'll take it from here." Oh, no. They thought that the threat to the school was coming from _teachers?_ Whoever put in the call must have known it was students! What happened?!

* * *

Holmes could only watch helplessly as 'Robert' flashed a smirk at the three teachers, handing over his blaster. "Thanks." The detective could only assume that wires had gotten crossed somewhere, but with all these weapons being aimed at them, this didn't seem the best time for a debate.

The female officer, wearing a captain's insignia, beckoned to Beth. "It's okay, honey, just come straight towards me."

Beth's eyes widened, still white as paper. "But..." She glanced back and forth between boy and officer, biting her lip, then walked forward slowly, trying to keep her distance from 'Robert'. "For the record..." her voice was shaking, "this is definitely _not_ what it looks like..."

The captain smiled kindly. "It's all over now, honey – you've been very brave. Let's get you back to your family, okay?"

Beth glanced back desperately at the trio, as the other officer started escorting the two students towards the main campus. "Officer, you don't understand..."

And that split second's distraction was enough – 'Robert' lunged at her and grabbed her by the wrist. Beth cried out in fright, trying to wrench herself free, but the boy's grip was unyielding as he reached with his other hand for the watch.

"No, stop him!" Holmes was about to rush forward and assist, but Watson reacted first: lowered the blaster, aimed it at 'Robert', and thumbed the firing button without hesitating.

Beth screamed as the boy's hand vaporized into dust around her wrist, whirling in horror to see Watson collapsing to the ground, stunned by an echoing blast from the captain's weapon. "No!"

John cried out wordlessly as Watson was shot, looking as horrified as Holmes felt; next moment, the rest of the squad descended on the three. The detective did his best not to resist, wincing in sympathy as Watson's arms were wrenched behind him as roughly as his own . At least his friend was unconscious for this, and surely they wouldn't restrain Watson in that fashion if he were seriously hurt – would they?

His other companion was protesting loudly while being handcuffed: "But that boy was the one threatening us, not the other way around!"

Beth looked downright panicked. "Please, listen to him! They were just trying to protect me!"

The captain paid no attention to any of their protests; her eyes were steely as she barked, "Read 'em their rights!" then turned to her lieutenant and muttered, "And get that poor kid over to the medics for a tranq shot..."

Beth mewled softly as she was led away from the scene, eyes wide and glistening. "No..." Holmes didn't even bother protesting; given what had just taken place, there was nothing any of them could say that would make a blind bit of difference.

The captain picked up the blaster that Watson had dropped with an expression of deep distaste – could the woman tell that it was an alien weapon? – then leaned menacingly into Holmes' face. "Whatever faction you scumsuckers are part of," she growled, "I'm going to personally make sure none of you see daylight for the next century! Get them out of here!"

* * *

The three men were hauled away to the parking lot and shoved unceremoniously into the back of a police van. Holmes glared warningly at the officers holding Watson, but it made no difference: the doctor was all but thrown in, landing hard on the floor of the van on his bad shoulder.

The detective struggled upright once the door was slammed shut, and knelt beside his friend who was just starting to come around, groaning faintly. "Watson? Come on, old fellow, wake up now." He nudged Watson's head gently with his knee, all the while testing his cuffs in vain for a way out of them.

John was anxiously watching Watson revive as well, looking extremely subdued. "The Doctor wouldn't've let this happen, would he?" he asked quietly.

Holmes looked up at him gravely, trying to choose his words with care. "John... you need to understand: the Doctor isn't perfect, any more than John Smith. He will fight, yes, if there is no other option... but even he cannot save everyone, every time. And neither of you are responsible for this outcome, either – the Family were the ones who started all of this..." He smiled mirthlessly – he was starting to wonder if the Family were responsible for the police believing _they_ were the threat. "However, they will also finish it if we just continue to sit here – Beth is still out there with the watch."

John looked down, closing his eyes. "But I don't know what to do," he murmured.

To Holmes' immense relief, Watson's eyes finally fluttered open, focusing slowly on the detective's face and giving him a faint, pained smile. Holmes returned the smile, then looked back up at John, arching an encouraging eyebrow. "Believe me, my friend, that never stopped you before..."

* * *

Beth rode in the front seat of the same van. The lady cop glanced at her, apparently noting her distress, and said, "Sorry you have to ride in the same car, sweetie."

Beth shook her head wordlessly and cupped both hands around the Doctor's watch, pressing it to her lips and crying silently. _Please... I don't know what to do._

"_Yes, you do."_ The Doctor's voice was like a sunny morning in June, warm and gentle. _"You're strong, Beth."_

Trembling, she shook her head again and darted a cautious glance at the officer. _I'm scared._

"_You can do it. I'm counting on you."_

She took a deep breath... and let herself sway towards the officer, as if fainting. She ignored the woman's concerned voice and murmured, "I'm sorry," and grabbed the officer's blaster out of her holster. It was on stun, good. She squeezed off a shot, and the vehicle immediately jerked to the right, its driver no longer conscious.

Beth grabbed hold of the wheel and turned off onto the nearest side-street, one that would become a country road, exactly what they needed right now... She fought with the wheel to keep it steady while pulling the officer out of her seat and worming her own way over. It was awkward, rough, and even frightening, but after a minute, she managed it.

* * *

Holmes and the Doctor had been helping Watson up off the floor onto one of the seats – no mean feat with all three of them handcuffed. The trio were thrown violently off balance when the van swerved, unable to keep themselves from toppling over. Holmes grunted in pain as he caught his ribs on the edge of the seat before hitting the floor again, struggling to draw breath.

"Holmes!" Watson managed to sit down on the floor behind him, taking the detective's hand in his. "Lie still, old fellow. Take shallow breaths." To John, who seemed to have come off best from the incident: "Can you see what's happening?"

John pushed himself back upright against the dividing door and peered through the porthole, eyes widening. "It's Beth!"

Holmes and Watson exchanged equally astonished glances, then Watson started to laugh; not having enough breath yet to join in, Holmes gave a pained grin, shaking his head. He should have known...

After a minute or so, the van was cruising reasonably smoothly again. The dividing door slid open and Beth called from the driver's seat, "Are you guys okay?"

"We'll live, m'dear, don't worry," Watson called back cheerfully. He levered himself off the floor with John's help, coming forward carefully. "I hope you've got the keys for these cuffs, though," looking down at the unconscious captain in sympathy. "Our 'hostess' will be waking shortly and I'd rather not add to her headache."

"Ah, you're going to have to check her belt, sorry. Little busy at the –" Beth's relieved expression vanished as a voice crackled over the van's police radio.

"_HQ to Team Leader. You're way off course, do you require a Code 30? Captain Jensen, do you copy?"_

"Oh, _terrific_."

Holmes sighed. "Don't tell me: they're tracking us." He too came forward and examined the lock on Watson's cuffs. "Best not to respond – if they think her radio is simply broken, that may buy us some time." He found the appropriate key on Jensen's belt and managed to remove it. "Now, if you can just keep this vehicle steady a while longer..." Standing back to back with Watson, he closed his eyes to limit distractions; working by touch always took longer, especially with handcuffs, but he still had Watson loose in half a minute.

Watson rubbed his wrists, wincing as his arms and shoulder protested all the rough treatment earlier. "Thanks, Holmes – just give me a moment." He climbed into the front of the van and positioned Jensen in the passenger seat, strapping her in securely; used his cuffs to fasten her right wrist to the door handle, then returned to free Holmes and John.

"Okay, so we're now outside city limits... Where are we going?"

Holmes came forward again. "There's an old barn on the outskirts of Jackson's Farm – do you know it? The TARDIS is hidden there."

"Yeah. Okay, no problem." Beth turned onto another country road.

Holmes looked at Beth in rising concern – her face was still ghostly pale, and although she was keeping the car steady with little effort, her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. No doubt she was thinking about Chloe... The detective realised with chagrin something that should have occurred to him some time ago: they couldn't take Beth away in the TARDIS, and her helping them to escape meant there was a strong chance she could be branded by the police as an accessory to terrorism, or worse. "Beth," he said quietly, "I am... truly sorry about all of this. You should never have been involved in our troubles to begin with – none of you."

Beth shook her head slowly, blinking as her eyes grew moist. "I don't mind being involved... it's just that I've never driven on my own before."

Holmes returned her trembling smile kindly, his respect for her courage and determination steadily growing. "Well, it must be said, you are doing far better than I – my first and only attempt at driving one of these hovervehicles was not nearly so successful..."

Watson snorted lightly, shaking his head as Beth's smile widened a little. "Complete disaster, I think you mean! He can't even drive a dogcart, and he thought antigrav would be easier..."

John snickered quietly, and Beth's eyes widened as she glanced back at Holmes. "You can't drive a cart? Well, there goes my childhood..." Her tone became lighter, gently teasing as she returned her eyes to the road. "Thought you could do anything if you tried."

"Well, I am certain I would have improved," Holmes responded primly, "had I not been forbidden to continue!" He gave Watson a meaningful stare.

Watson arched an eyebrow in response, looking entirely unmoved. "The world has quite enough problems – in any century – without the Great Detective _attempting_ to learn to drive."

"Well, if we make it through this thing all in one piece..." Beth ventured quietly, "I'd be happy to show you the basics." She gave Holmes a shy smile. "Terrible thing to be traveling all over Time and Space without knowing how to drive a little hovercar."

Holmes' expression sobered momentarily – his respect for the girl aside, he wasn't certain that his being instructed by an adolescent female would be at all appropriate, even in this century. Besides, knowing the Doctor as he did, it seemed unlikely they would be remaining that long once the danger had passed. All the same, he couldn't resist responding diplomatically, "Thank you, my dear, that is most generous of you." And grinned wickedly as Watson groaned, covering his eyes.

* * *

**Author's note from Sky:**  
Oh, poor John! It was writing him in this chapter that really split him from the Doctor in my mind—even though both experience desperation and sorrow the same way, John's is motivated differently. Rooted in his subconscious is the knowledge that he _is_ the Doctor, and he's terrified of returning to that, especially because this has been one of the happiest times of his life... As for Holmes, that last scene is my favorite of his scenes for this episode—maybe even one of my favorites in the series thus far!—and best exemplifies, I think, the warmth to his character that I talked about last time. It's really an essential part to Holmes that's often ignored entirely in favor of portraying him as "a cold reasoning machine", when in fact, that's only _one_ aspect to his personality and not the whole thing. He was entirely capable of compassion and empathy, and that's something that really comes out beautifully in this story!

**Author's note from Ria:**

As for Watson, he's absolutely shone as the Team Dad this episode – which _has_ taken its toll. The pressures of being a teacher aside, it's one thing to try keeping Holmes out of trouble, but when you add the human!Doctor to the equation... and let's not forget he was the one who made the call to shoot Son-of-Mine, then got shot himself for his efforts! And after all that, the hardest task is still to come...


	6. The Doctor Forever

**NOTICE:** We now have a Tumblr for this series, with graphics and other goodies (like, potentially, public replies to reviews!). Check us out at "wholmesproductions dot tumblr dot com"!

**==Chapter Six: The Doctor Forever==**

_And then that word grew louder and louder_

_'Til it was a battle cry  
I'll come back when you call me  
No need to say goodbye_

— Regina Spektor, "The Call"

Beth pulled off the road into a soybean field, parking the van in a dip in the ground. For a kid who was too young to be a licensed driver yet, John mused, she was really pretty good.

Officer Jensen started to come to as Beth turned off the van. "What the..."

"I'm sorry, officer," Beth murmured, "but there's no time to try to convince you."

Jensen's eyes widened in realisation. "You—"

"I'm sorry!" Beth repeated. "If there'd been any other way, I would've taken it."

"What are you talking about?!"

"The men you arrested. They're not criminals. They were protecting me from the real shooters, and now I'm returning the favour." Beth opened the back doors and hopped out, ignoring Jensen's protests.

Edward... _Holmes_... nodded grudgingly at Jensen, no doubt still peeved about Ja—er, _Watson's_—treatment. Watson smiled apologetically. "No hard feelings, madam. I hope this won't affect your service record." He followed Holmes out, leaving John with the groggy officer.

John gave her a sheepish look. "For the record, I'm nearly as much in the dark about all this as you are." He waved with his fingers and climbed out. "All right," he said to his friends, "so let me get this straight. The TARDIS is real. I mean, real time-travelling police box."

Holmes's smile was downright affectionate. "She is, indeed: a living, female time machine that's larger..."

"...on the inside!" Watson finished with him, and exchanged grins. Huh, Thing One and Thing Two. "She's missed you dreadfully, Doctor," Watson continued softly – John froze at being called _Doctor_ rather than _John_. "You two are usually inseparable."

It was getting increasingly harder to resist the evidence that he really wasn't who he thought he was, but he _wanted to be_. Snatches of dream-memories of being in and with the TARDIS floated in his mind, and they made him ache. He wanted that camaraderie... and yet he didn't want it at the expense of his own self.

Beth looked at him in sympathy and slowly slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. He swallowed hard and looked down at her, her actions reminding him of someone else he half-remembered, a smallish blond girl with a heart big enough to encompass a world...

She smiled tentatively. "We're falling through space, you and me," she murmured, "clinging to the skin of this tiny little world... and you mustn't let go."

He stared at her, vividly remembering another face, another man... saying almost the exact same thing to the blond girl... a different voice... a different life... but still _him_...

Holmes cleared his throat. "Forgive the interruption, but we do need to keep moving." He led the way towards the barn, and John and Beth held on to each other. When the barn was finally in sight, they stopped short at the edge of the field in a cluster of trees. The TARDIS was outside the barn (she was beautiful), and not-Chloe and an older man and woman stood in front of it.

Watson swore softly under his breath.

The ungodly trio stiffened and raised their heads, sniffing the air deeply—okay, that was like the Ringwraiths, and it was scary. "Doctor!" the man called, sing-song. "Doctor!"

John stiffened himself and whispered, "Great, now what?"

Beth gave him a meaningful look past a very white face.

"No!" he hissed.

"Come back, Doctor. Come home. Come and claim your prize!"

"Out you come, Doctor! There's a good boy. Come to the Family."

"Doctor, we're out of time!" Beth said urgently. "I'm sorry, but you have to do this! You have to let yourself—your real self—come back!"

"Come out, Doctor!" called not-Chloe. "Time to end it now! Come to us!"

"This _is_ my real self!" John protested, his vision blurring. "This is _just_ as real as the madman in his box!" As soon as he had said it, he knew it was _true_. The truth was that he _was_ the Doctor... and he was also John Smith.

"Yes," Watson said quietly, "yes, John, you are. And there lies the terrible irony... This was only ever supposed to be temporary, until the Family died—they only have another two months at most; that's why they needed the essence of a Time Lord. Despite the Doctor's great love for humanity, I suppose he thought he'd be able to put his own aside with ease when the time came, in much the same way Holmes would a disguise. But it seems even he had no idea of just how badly he wanted to be able to stop running altogether..."

"Running... that's what you want me to go back to doing?" Vague snatches of dreams—snatches that he now knew were memories—were getting clearer, and one of the strongest emotions threading through them was self-loathing. The Doctor had done... terrible things... things for which he couldn't forgive himself... "Being on the run constantly because... because I'm running from myself?" He stared at Watson, because how could his best friend want him to do that? "Is that what you want?!"

He almost regretted it, because Watson closed his eyes in obvious pain. "John, if there was any other way, do you really think we wouldn't take it? But the Family must be stopped or countless more lives will be lost. We need the Doctor back, and you're the only one who can do it."

The frightening thing was that John was starting to feel as if he really didn't have any choice in the matter. "It's not fair," he breathed. "All I ever wanted... was just a quiet, simple life. I don't want..." He waved a hand to encompass around them, everything that had gone wrong. "..._this_. It's horrifying. Not just the deaths, the Family..." He looked down at Beth—poor, dear, innocent Beth—who was still holding his hand. "...but this. Turning the people around him, even children... into weapons."

Beth swallowed hard but said nothing.

"We had this conversation on our first adventure, did we not, Doctor?" said Holmes. "And my response now is the same as it was then." He placed a gentle hand on John's shoulder. "The three of us have all made a choice to stand here with you..." He grinned faintly. "...and you now know firsthand just how stubborn humans can be when it comes to worthy causes."

John looked down. "I feel like a kid running out of excuses," he murmured. It was true. How could he justify not letting the Doctor come back when he was needed? Even if it meant giving up his own life... other people gave up their lives in worthy causes—what made him so special? He didn't want to die... but he would be selfish to keep on living. Selfish and quite probably destructive.

He looked back up to meet Holmes's gaze. Holmes. How had he never seen the resemblance to the characters in the old stories? "He's scared, too, you know..." He knew that from his dreams. "Scared of being lonely again, of lots of things." Something about the future absolutely terrified the Time Lord... "I don't... I don't..."

Beth bit her lip and hugged him, and he held on tightly. He'd had a family, once, as the Doctor... a very, very long time ago...

_He'd had a daughter and a son, once, but he'd barely known either, always away from home and unable to settle even then. When his granddaughter was born, he resolved not to fail her as he'd failed her mother..._

Shivering, he looked back up at Holmes and Watson, both silent, sorrow in their eyes. The Doctor was like a father to them, too—he remembered that from his dreams. They were so strong... but they needed him. The... the _real_ him...

The dream had been breathtakingly beautiful, but it was time to wake up.

He squeezed Beth gently and patted her back. "Let me see it."

Nodding slowly, she pulled back, her face tear-stained, and drew out the watch.

"_Please,"_ said his own voice, coming from it.

With a shuddering breath, he took the watch, holding it gingerly. He lifted it to his mouth and whispered, "Don't let me die completely. Please." Lowering it, he murmured, "So many names, so many faces... and I can barely remember them, even though I know I should... all those... those bright and _shining_ Companions..." He took another deep breath, eyes filling with tears. _I don't want to go, I don't want to go, I don't want to go_... "I'm just going to get this over with before I talk myself back out of it." Watson's eyes glistened. "So... bye."

He flipped open the watch, and golden light flowed out of it, around him, into him... _"Shh, it's all right, I've got you, go to sleep..."_ His eyes rolled back in his head, suddenly unable to see, and his knees buckled as fire raged through him. His mind exploded into infinity, and he could see the stars and feel the turn of the earth and hear the music of the universe once more... And then he gritted his teeth involuntarily, crying out as his chest seemed to burst...

...the next thing that he knew was a warm hand on his forehead, and Watson's voice murmuring, "Thank you, John... Doctor? Can you hear me?"

The Doctor winced—his head hurt like the very dickens... "Yes... Watson?" He blinked his eyes open and realised that he was lying on the ground. Watson was looking down at him, warm hazel eyes relieved and regretful.

"Doctor," came Holmes's voice from somewhere nearby (the Doctor was experiencing deplorable disorientation at the moment), "they've sensed us; they know where we are!"

A shrill whine filled the air, and nearby trees shattered beneath lasercannon fire. Beth cried out. The Doctor bolted upright, grimacing in pain, head swimming, but took her hand. "C'mon!" He took off into the woods, and the others followed.

"What the hell are they using?" Watson panted.

"Ship's cannons!" Holmes replied. "Just behind the TARDIS—it has some kind of invisibility shield."

"Oh, wonderful!"

The fireworks did not let up—there would be no getting back to the TARDIS at this rate. Not safely for the humans, at any rate. The Doctor stopped and nudged Beth over to Holmes. "Keep running—stay low!" He held up the watch. "I'll be back soon."

The boys exchanged glances, then nodded. Holmes took Beth's hand, and they set back off.

The Doctor turned back towards the Family's ship. He hadn't wanted to do this, but John Smith had given his life to enable him to... _"Go on,"_ his human self whispered, an echo now... like all his past lives... _"Save them."_

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and strode towards the fire.

* * *

They hadn't gone quarter of a mile more when the cannon fire ceased, much to Watson's relief – a relief which was all too short-lived, as a minute later the sound of a huge explosion ripped through the forest, the ground trembling just like it had at Los Alamos!

The three stumbled to a halt, speechless with horror – if the Doctor had been caught in that... But then Watson sagged weakly, letting out the breath he hadn't even known he was holding, as the most beautiful sound reached his ears: the noise of the TARDIS dematerialising in the distance.

Beth relaxed her iron grip on Holmes' hand. "...that was the TARDIS?"

Holmes nodded, clearly just as relieved, his faint smile not quite hiding a wince as he flexed his fingers.

Watson smiled kindly at Beth, certain the Doctor wouldn't mind his asking, "Would you like to meet her?" Beth looked up, wide-eyed, nodding wordlessly, and a few seconds later, the TARDIS began reappearing in front of them. Watson opened the door and stood back with an encouraging nod, eyes twinkling. "After you, my dear."

Beth took a deep breath, and stepped inside. Watson followed her in, smiling at the girl's awestruck stare, but sobered as his gaze was drawn along with Beth's to the Doctor. The Time Lord stood behind the TARDIS console, dark eyes smouldering; however his gaze quickly softened at the sight of Beth, smiling at her sadly. Beth smiled back tentatively. "Bigger on the inside..."

Holmes came in just then, looking resigned, and Watson could hear why: the distant wail of police sirens outside, rapidly drawing closer.

The Doctor nodded gently at Beth, coming forward with a grateful glance at his Companions, and gripped the girl's shoulders gently. "Beth Lestrade. You brave, beautiful girl..." He kissed her forehead. "Thank you."

Beth's voice was distressingly small: "You're welcome..."

The Doctor sighed at the ever approaching sirens and returned to the console. Once the TARDIS had returned to the relative safety of the Vortex, he turned back to Beth and solemnly beckoned her over. "Beth... there's something you need to know..." He leant forward, whispered in her ear, and Watson was dismayed to see Beth's eyes filling with tears, mouth frozen in a small 'o'.

The Time Lord straightened, waiting, as Beth took a shuddering breath, staring at the floor. Finally, she nodded. "Okay..."

The Doctor lifted his hands to her temples, voice soft: "It's all right, honey... it's all right..." Beth closed her eyes with him, a tear slipping down her cheek. A misty-eyed Watson had to swallow a rising lump in his throat when the Doctor murmured, "All right, sweetheart, it's over, you're all right..." and Beth broke down in his embrace and sobbed, clinging to the Time Lord for dear life.

The Doctor cradled Beth in his arms, gently rocking her, his expression more fatherly than his human colleague had ever seen it before; moved across to the jump seat and settled into it, rubbing her back soothingly. He looked up at his Companions for a moment before bowing his head, and Watson thought his own heart would break to see that the Time Lord's eyes were once more filled with all of their soul-wrenching guilt and sorrow – if anything, that anguish had grown deeper still.

Watson's attention was mercifully caught a moment later by Holmes – the detective had glanced hastily away from the scene, looking deeply uncomfortable. He met Watson's quizzical look with an unreadable one of his own, but remained silent.

* * *

One cup of Earl Grey and one genuine orange shock blanket later (which was still draped around her shoulders), Beth felt drained. She would be dealing with Chloe's death for a long time, and she didn't want to continue that just yet. She felt the Doctor's gaze on her and turned to him (it was so mind-blowing to look at her history teacher and still see _some_ of him in there but also see so much age and authority and grief). "I want to come with you," she said softly.

He smiled sadly. (She wanted to see him smile genuinely again, because it was one of the most amazing smiles she had ever seen.) "Oh, Beth..." He sighed. "I wish I could. You were magnificent."

"Then take me with you. Please... I can't just... just go back to my boring... average... life like this." She had gotten a taste of adventure far earlier than she'd ever dreamed she would, and now, despite everything that had gone horribly wrong, she craved more.

He cupped her face gently. "Shhh, I know." He looked her in the eye, and she almost couldn't take it—his eyes were so ancient. "But you're not out of school yet, you've got a family back there... and you're so young." He shook his head, eyes haunted. "Too young to have to experience what you already have... too young to keep on experiencing it. I'm not going to have you damaged before you're even an adult."

She bit her lip. "...then come back for me. When I am."

He paused. Then _that_ smile began to creep over his face, the smile that was all joy and no hint of sadness. "You're really set on this."

She nodded. All of Space and Time... who wouldn't want that?

He nodded back slowly. "All right... all right." He clasped her shoulders. "When you're older. Start getting ready, then."

She managed a small smile. "I will." She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly—John Smith or the Doctor, he was still someone whom she cared about very much, and she would miss him terribly. "Thank you," she whispered.

He held her tightly back. "Thank _you_, Beth. My brave, brave girl." He pulled back and kissed her on the forehead again.

She leant up and kissed him on the cheek, then pulled back and smiled more fully. Still smiling, she turned and walked over to Dr. Watson. "Dr. Watson, it was fantastic, meeting you. And I'm going to miss taking English with you." She grinned—and, really, the idea of John H. Watson teaching an American high school English class was just all kinds of ironic.

He returned the grin. "You were a pleasure to teach, my dear—" his tone took on a facsimile of sternness—"and no slacking off while we're gone, understood?" Then his manner became more serious—apparently, he couldn't quite let go of the teacher role, yet. "You have a bright future ahead of you, Beth; one needn't be a Time Lord to see that. Make sure you keep up your studies."

Her heart felt full to bursting. "I will. I'll have to—I'm going to be the next Inspector Lestrade, after all." She grinned again. "The line's been going strong for a couple of hundred years now—_somebody's_ gotta keep it going."

Dr. Watson chuckled. "I couldn't agree more!" He glanced away behind her, expression thoroughly amused.

She followed his gaze to Sherlock Holmes and noted the man's wide eyes. She wasn't going to try to guess what he was thinking, so she merely grinned sheepishly before turning her attention back to Watson. A moment of hesitation, and then she hugged him. "I hope I'll see you again," she murmured.

He hugged her back. "As do I, my dear." He smiled warmly as he let her go.

She couldn't respond to that, couldn't form any words much less push them out of her mouth... so she leant up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you for everything," she managed to murmur.

Then she turned to Sherlock, her smile turning a bit shy but no less radiant. "Thank you, too, Sherlock Holmes," she said softly. "It's been an honour."

He smiled back—almost a bit awkwardly, she thought—and bowed slightly. "As it has been for me, Miss Le... Beth." He paused, and she wished she was actually brave enough to tell him just how much she appreciated him. He cleared his throat, his tone lightening. "That driving lesson will have to wait, it seems." Then he looked terribly uncertain, and the descriptor her mind so helpfully supplied was _adorkable_.

"Something to look forward to, then," she said, grinning. And then she paused, too, because her kisses to the two Doctors had been grateful and affectionate in a friend-to-friend way... She wasn't brave enough (or stupid enough, she couldn't decide) actually to kiss him, especially when she felt _so much_ for him. Childhood crush had blended into student crush, which in turn had blended into a strange sort of friendship.

Did she actually love him? Truly love him, in any sort of manner?

She was pretty sure she did. It was crazy and she knew it only meant trouble for her, but she did.

She took a deep breath and slowly, lightly wrapped her arms around him. "I'll miss you," she murmured. That much she could safely say.

Surprisingly, he returned the hug—a little gingerly, but he returned it. "Goodbye, Beth," he said quietly. "This has been... quite the experience..." He released her, smiling faintly—ohhh, and just that slight smile made her _melt_... "...one I shall not soon forget." And he actually _bowed_ over her hand.

She blushed, her smile turning solemn. "Goodbye." She didn't want to leave, but... the Doctor was waiting for her at the doorway. Sighing, she walked over to the door. "See you later, Doctor."

He smiled encouragingly—her history teacher's smile. She was really going to miss her manic big kid of a teacher... she was going to miss them all. "Won't be long," he said quietly. "I promise."

She smiled back. "Better not be." She took another deep breath... and stepped out of the TARDIS. Oh. Okay. These were the woods that extended for a long ways past her own backyard. She walked forward a few paces, then turned and waved.

It wasn't "goodbye," she had to remind herself. She _would_ see the Doctor later, and, with any luck, she would see Holmes and Watson, as well.

* * *

Watson shot a meaningful look at Holmes as the Doctor closed the TARDIS door; the alien came slowly back to the console with almost none of the old spring in his step, posture slumped, radiating exhaustion.

Holmes nodded back – he certainly wasn't about to argue. Advising the Doctor to rest was usually akin to banging one's head against a wall, but neither of his Companions would be taking 'no' for an answer this time; the detective hadn't seen the Time Lord look that shattered since Tibet.

Watson sighed, smiling tiredly. "Well, I don't know about you two, but I think whatever happens next ought to involve deck chairs, and large amounts of cool drinks!"

Holmes echoed the smile, allowing his own weariness to show. "An excellent notion, Watson." The Doctor might be loathe to admit his own need, but if he knew he was doing his Companions a favour at the same time... "Doctor, I imagine you know of a decent resort or two?"

The Doctor glanced between the pair of them – Holmes honestly didn't care if he realised what they were up to, as long as it worked – and managed a slight smile. "Couple hundred, matter of fact," he said quietly, reaching for the lever. "I know this one, though, that serves the _best_ iced tea..."

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:**

One scene I always wished they could have put into the original episode was the moment when John Smith allowed the Doctor to come back. I think it would have been _substantially_ different to Ten's regeneration, if only because John Smith made a choice, while Ten fought his death to the very end – the best that could be said of him in that regard was that he finally resigned himself to the inevitable. It might have sounded cruel, but I think Joan Redfern was right: John Smith _was_ the braver of the two.

I'm very glad we could include that scene here – and Sky's heartbreaking depiction of it makes me tear up every time I read it! Let's all take a moment to salute John Smith, human being extraordinaire, and the writer who brought him so vividly to life. Sky, honey, take a bow! *thunderous applause*

**Author's note from Sky:**

*blushes furiously* The entire sequence sat half-completed on my laptop for a couple of weeks for a very good reason: I was dealing with finals and I knew I needed time that wasn't stolen from schoolwork in order to do the scene justice. Since it's the scene that, yes, everybody wishes we could have gotten in the original, I wanted very badly to get it right. I don't always flesh out scenes as deeply as I know I should, and I wanted to be very careful that I would do so this time.

Also, don't think that I'm not aware that, sometimes, the Companions really steal the show in this series! And this... this _had_ to be the Doctor's moment, for both human and Time Lord selves.

To those wondering what the Doctor was doing in Beth's head... stay tuned for the epilogue!


	7. Epilogue: To Be Continued

**==Epilogue: To Be Continued==**

_A man who has been in another world does not come back unchanged._

— C. S. Lewis, Perelandra

The seventies-something woman looked over the rims of her glasses at Beth, frowning slightly. "Then you came _back_ to school? You could have been arrested."

Beth shrugged. "In which case, I would still have told them everything I just told you. I didn't have very many options." Go home and the police would come anyway; hide or run and she'd be alone, and she couldn't be alone. _Especially_ not after all this.

The woman's green eyes assessed her. "You could have hidden yourself or run away."

Beth lifted her chin. "I don't run."

The corners of the woman's mouth lifted fractionally. "I believe you. Very well, Miss Lestrade, I believe we have all we need, only..." Her expression turned regretful. "You haven't explained what the Doctor did with your mind."

All the air in Beth's lungs was released in a shuddering exhale. She looked down at her shoes, murmuring, "He was protecting me."

Gently: "From what?"

She shivered. "From what he'd done with the Family... what he'd done with the girl who... who..." She choked and shook her head, unable to continue that thought. "He put her in mirrors—every mirror. A pocket dimension, he said, scattered throughout Time into every mirror, looking out into the world that she can never hurt again. And no one can see her... unless it's out of the corner of their eye." She looked up to meet the woman's gaze again, visibly disturbed now.

"Have you ever seen something out of the corner of your eye in a mirror?" Beth said quietly. "And then you turned to face it fully and there was nothing there? That's her."

The woman shivered perceptibly.

"I'm the only one who can't see her. The Doctor pushed at little places in my mind so that I would never see the girl in the mirror..." Beth stopped and swallowed the rising lump in her throat.

Quietly: "I'm so sorry." Beth believed the woman meant it; she seemed the kind of person who almost never apologised, who couldn't afford to regret or sympathise.

Beth took a shaky breath and nodded, very slowly. She wasn't sure that she would ever be all right. She and Chloe had grown up together, had done everything but the same classes and grades together, had confided in each other. For all the superficial differences, they had been "kindred spirits". She didn't know how she was supposed to move on from that. (She'd hoped, wildly, unrealistically, that the Doctor would let her come with him, let her move on by immersing herself in his world...)

"All right," continued the woman in a kind but firm tone, "time, I think, that you got home to your parents. We have your contact information and you have ours, and you know what information you're allowed to disclose to friends and family. Would you like a ride home?"

Beth nodded. "Part of the way at least, please." She could walk the distance if she tried, but that would really be a very long way on foot, and she was bone-tired. She would get out and walk the rest of the distance a little ways from home so that she could just _cry_, because she knew she needed to do that again, and soon.

The woman smiled gently. "Of course." She paged over an "Agent McIntire," and a redheaded woman in her thirties appeared a minute later.

Slumping in her chair, Beth zoned out briefly while the women talked. The whole experience of meeting an intelligence agency—especially one as obscure as UNIT—should have been surreal, but considering the experiences of the past forty-eight hours... Talking with "secret agents" ranked pretty low on the surreal list.

She shook the lead agent's hand and said goodbye, and the woman expressed her condolences once more, and Agent McIntire was leading her out to a sleek squad car, and she sank down in the passenger seat and closed her eyes. She was exhausted down to her very soul. She needed to shut herself off from the rest of the world if only for a few minutes.

* * *

"Sir," came a hushed young male voice, "was that..."

"Yes," said the woman, "she was."

"She's so young."

"She's as old as she ought to be, according to her file."

"Does she know..."

The woman sighed internally and turned a stern look upon her rookie. "Of course she doesn't. I didn't tell her, and no one else would."

The boy was taken aback. "But, sir!"

"Humans were never meant to know our own personal futures, and a Companion of the Doctor's is no exception."

Subdued: "Yes, sir."

UNIT's lead American operative turned back to the computer screen before her, studying the image of a slightly older Beth Lestrade. The Beth she'd met had indeed been young in every possible way, and yet she could see in her the traits that a Companion of the Doctor's needed to have. The woman had herself met the Doctor once, although, by her understanding, it was an older version of the Doctor than the one that had been teaching at this school. _"Time can be rewritten. Sometimes."_

And the blond woman who had been with him had added with a sad smile, _"But not always."_

Meeting a Companion when you knew what would happen to them was never easy. With a heavy sigh, the woman closed the file. Time to leave the past behind and focus on the future.

**To Be Continued...**

**in Episode Seven: "Stolen"**

* * *

**Author's note from Sky:**

Poor Beth, she's been through so much. And, ah, UNIT, how we love you. Yes, they showed up when they heard rumors of alien sightings, and Beth was the only one left who really knew what had happened. So what will happen to her in the future? Well, I think you know the party line... ;-) Oh yes, and **please review!** We'd love to hear what you thought of this episode overall!

And stay tuned, anyway, because we've got a very special TARDISode coming! In fact, you might even say it's rather... _fantastic_...


End file.
